Page 117 of Desperate People

And his eyes—God, his eyes.

That intense, bi-colored gaze locks on me, and I freeze.

It’s like being seen down to the bone.

No armor. No pretense. Just me—standing here in our home, wondering how I ended up falling so damn hard, so damn fast.

I want to speak. To say something. But the words lodge in my throat.

Because the way he’s looking at me?

It’s not anger.

It’s possession.

It’s hunger.

It’s some kind of fierce, primal claiming that makes my knees weaken and my breath catch.

Need rises inside me, unstoppable. Familiar now, but still terrifying in its intensity.

Never with anyone else.

Never like this.

It’s like he knows it, too. And he can’t resist the pull any more than I can.

One second we’re locked in a staring contest, and the next we’re fused together like nothing could ever break us apart.

He’s kissing me. Carrying me. I feel the table beneath me, solid and cool.

“Mine,” he growls, still kissing me. “You’re mine, Lucy Cruz. And no one—no one—is going to fucking take you from me.”

I tell him the truth then.

“I only want you, Balor. Only you.”

This man has me. Completely. Irrevocably.

The question is, what’s he going to do with me when I finally open my mouth and whisper the one thing I’ve been holding back?

When I tell him the truth, I’ve been scared to face.

I love him.

I am ass over teakettle in love with him.

Should I say it?

Would he even want it?

Or will loving Balor Cruz be the one thing that breaks me for good?

Clothing gets moved, torn maybe, I’m not sure. Heat fills me, need, desire, and it is desperate.

All I know for sure is how much I want him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Wife, I want you to stop. Just feel. Feel me,” he growls, then he slams his hips to mine, and all coherent thought flies out the window.

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